Surrounded by Family
by TrekkieEcriture
Summary: You didn't think Tressler was just going to forget about being a 140 million dollar distraction, did you? Nope. He can't find the Horsemen, so who does he target? That's right, our favorite FBI agent. And yet, Dylan won't go down without a lot of fight. WARNING: descriptions of torture. Very dark until the very very end.


I just saw the movie this past weekend and found it AMAZING! :) Afterward I got this idea-I assume Tressler wouldn't be thrilled at the fact that the FBI really sucked during this case, and since he's a pretty nasty guy, I made the leap of faith that he'd target Dylan. Post-NYSM.

Disclaimer: I do not own NYSM but dang do I wish I did!

**WARNING: has descriptions of torture (one of them lengthy). Very dark until the very very end. **

* * *

He wakes to pain and blood. It hurts to twitch his limbs in the slightest; it hurts to breathe; it hurts to even blink, as each time he does so, another sharp jolt of pain momentarily clears his head of the fog.

Momentarily.

Slowly, though, ever so slowly, it comes back to him. Bits and pieces, disorienting, only further confusing his already befuddled mind-

_He hears a bone-chilling scream as the knife is plunged in again. And again. And again. Over and over until he can't feel his shoulder anymore, and it is only then that he realizes that __**he**__ is the one screaming._

The scene changes.

_They punch him in a cold, hard fury, relentlessly yet precisely. Dimly, he registers the pain and the fact that blood is now trickling down his throat- yep, broken nose. Some time later- he's not exactly sure when- the two of them step back, panting heavily._

_He smirks up at them, despite his feeling that he'll be paying dearly for it sooner rather than later. "'s that the best you got, boys?" he slurs, chuckling despite the twinging of his ribs._

_The beating continues._

His mind now takes him to a darker, more ominous memory. And, unfortunately, it seems to want to keep him fixated there for a long while yet.

_He's lying on the floor, unable to do anything but blink slowly, his harsh breaths echoing in the unnerving silence._

_Suddenly, the two tormentors from before are dragging him up off the ground, slapping him when his body doesn't quite obey the command to stand firm and proud. Despite all their efforts, his head still lolls forward._

_Then a hand grabs his chin and forces it up, and his swimming gaze eventually clears to see the smug expression on- who else?- Tressler's face._

_"Arty," he forces out through chapped, bloody lips. "How ya doin'?"_

_The rich bastard is taken aback at first, and Dylan smirks. It'll take a whole lot more than this royal prick's got to get his spirit to surrender. His body, perhaps. But his spirit?_

**_Never._**

_Then the smug look is back on the billionaire's face, and dang if he doesn't want to choke it out of the bastard._

_"I'll admit, I didn't expect you to last this long, Agent Rhodes," he says softly, still gripping Dylan's chin as tightly as possible. "But your guards tell me they're getting... bored. Now, to stop them from trying their more... creative... punishments on you, all you have to do is tell me where they are." He finally releases Dylan and steps back._

_The agent-magician can't help himself. He forces the most innocent expression on his face and wonders, "Who's 'they'?"_

_His snark earns himself another slap to the face. It's from the short, pudgy guard, the one he's privately nicknamed Tweedledum._

_"Oh, I think you know __**very**__ well who I'm talking about, Agent Rhodes," the billionaire says, almost affably if not for the iciness of his gaze._

_He wrinkles his nose in mock confusion. "Uh... you talkin' 'bout tha' ring o' drug dealers? 'Cause we stopped 'em a lil' bit ago. Oh yes, we did. Showed 'em who was boss." Fake pride is leaking into his voice. "I ever tell you who their ringleader was? You'll never guess."_

_There's still a patient expression on Tressler's face as Tweedledee- yep, the tall, skinny one- now takes his turn to slap him._

_He spits a glob of blood at Tressler's feet. Tweedledum raises a hand to strike again, but this time the rich bastard stops him._

_"What a curious specimen you are, Agent Rhodes," Tressler says softly. "Inflicting bodily harm on you only seems to increase your insolence. But what about emotional harm? Or mental, for that matter?"_

_The billionaire is now prowling, circling him like a tiger does its prey._

_Dylan lets out a bark of humorless laughter. "Whatever you do, I can take it." It's true; he's known that ever since his father died, and Tressler now knows, even if poor ignorant little Tweedledee and Tweedledum haven't quite gotten on board yet._

_Prick-boy (he rather likes that nickname. Maybe he'll keep using it in future.) stops circling and simply stares at him for what seems to be an eternity but is more likely only a minute or two._

_The smirk is back on Dylan's face. "You honestly thou' tha' would work on __**me**__? Give me a bi' more credi'. I'm an __**FBI**__ agen'."_

_Tressler continues to study him intently for another moment or two. Strangely, he seems almost disappointed. He sighs and says, "Believe me, Agent Rhodes, I do wish it wouldn't have had to come to this. But perhaps in future, you will heed my warnings."_

_Prick-boy distances himself even farther from him and the guards, but Dylan still doesn't understand what he just hinted at until his arm's stretched above him and suddenly there's a CRACK and then __**pain pain pain**__ registers in his brain until it becomes a dull pulsing ache but then they're starting on the other arm and then-_

_His vision slowly fades to black after they break his right arm, too. As his consciousness begins slipping in and out, he hopes they don't also break his legs..._

He's not sure what brings his mind back to the present. The fact that there's shouting all around him? The fact that gentle hands are working, probing, desperately trying to assess the amount of damage he's taken?

He doesn't care, at any rate. It's as if he's disinterestedly gazing upon his surroundings from afar; the shouts are all muffled and he can't make out their words no matter how much he strains his ears.

His heartbeat, in contrast, is the only thing he can hear clearly. _Bump-bump._ Pause. _Bump-bump._ Pause. _Bump-bump_. Pause.

Then five worried faces are swimming in front of him, and he squints, desperately needing to remember who they are, because something deep inside him is screaming that these people are desperately important-

_Danny._

The usually emotionless 'control freak' is trying desperately to prevent the look of shock and anguish on his face from breaking through. _It's ok_, Dylan wants to tell him. _It'll be all right._

But, try as he might, his tongue refuses to cooperate, and, being unable to comfort the young man he's come to regard as a surrogate son, he swallows painfully and moves on to the next of them.

_Merritt._

The often smirking, laid-back mentalist appears ashen, pale. Shaken. It's the most serious Dylan's ever seen him, and the agent can't help but let his heart swell in pride. _You're such a kid at heart, but you're finally growing up, son._

He tries to quirk his lips up, to try to get that wonderful lopsided grin back on the mentalist's face, but he somehow senses that he fails miserably, for the already serious gaze falters and a touch of sorrow is there. For a fleeting moment, Dylan thinks at first, but he's shocked to see that the sadness remains in the mentalist's gaze.

The master magician is feeling slightly uncomfortable by now and quickly moves on. Next up is _Henley._

Her normally fiery expression is still present, but something else is tainting it. Something... Distantly, Dylan frowns. Tears. Quivering at the corners of her eyes, threatening to come out, held back only by her fierce will.

_Please don't cry. Not over me. Why waste your time when you still have your whole life ahead of you?_

He meets her gaze calmly and tries his best to send a confident, soothing message. But then her bottom lip starts quivering and he's pretty sure he failed again. Puzzled, and wanting her to retain her dignity as much as possible (that's the kind of girl Henley is, after all: she wants the world to know she's stronger than pretty much any guy out there!), Dylan turns his gaze toward the fourth Horseman.

_Jack._

His expression is extremely grim, surprisingly. Dylan is taken aback by the restrained anger and solemn promise in the boy's expression. Of the Four Horsemen, he seems to be taking this the most calmly. Almost as if... as if...

_Oh please no,_ Dylan begs an unseen yet ever-present God. _Please, __**please**__ tell me that he hasn't had to go through this exact situation_ _before._

But deep in his heart, even before the Deity sorrowfully answers in the negative, Dylan knows that Jack has gone through so, so much already in his short twenty-two years of living on the earth.

_Son, when this is all over, I'm going to make sure your new family is the best ever,_ Dylan silently promises. Jack doesn't appear to have noticed the strong message the agent's trying to send; the boy's grim expression has glazed over slightly as he continues to stare at Dylan's torso.

It's no use trying to get the boy's attention (especially since it's so very focused on one thing) when he can't talk or move, so Dylan moves on to the last of the five.

_Alma. Oh, Alma._

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to worry about me._

Her blonde hair is frizzy and in a messy bun, her cheeks are stained with her tears, her makeup is becoming runny and washing off-

And yet, this is the most beautiful he's ever seen her.

_Don't worry,_ he tries to say with his eyes. After an obscene amount of effort, his right hand twitches, and though she at first starts at the sudden movement where before there was none, she quickly recovers and slips her hand into his. Delicate yet strong. That's his girl.

And it seems, he notes with a faint sense of amusement, that out of the five, she is the only one who understands his attempts to communicate non-verbally. She smiles, a little tearfully, but gets her message across all the same: It's going to be ok.

_Now that you're here by my side_, he responds, _it will be._

His eyelids suddenly feel heavy. Maybe because he is surrounded by his family, and he knows that now that they are here, everything will be fine, he's relaxing a bit. Just the tiniest bit.

Alma smiles down at him and gently trails an exquisite hand through his hair. It's almost obvious what she's wordlessly telling him to do. _Sleep..._

He does.

* * *

Well, there we are! This is honestly how I imagine Dylan's character based on the movie...I love his character!

Hope you enjoyed-please let me know how I did! :)


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